


Born From Decision

by straightforwardly



Category: Cinders (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-20
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-05-07 21:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5470979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightforwardly/pseuds/straightforwardly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-canon. When the kingdom needs a new financial minister, Ghede seizes the chance to take care of another lingering problem as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Born From Decision

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LittleRaven](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleRaven/gifts).



Midday. 

The carriage rolls along the road, the occasional bump nothing to the bone-cracking jolts Ghede has been accustomed to in a long life of wagon rides. Hot, clear sunlight streams in through the gap between the curtains on the window. Sweat beads at her temples, threatening to smudge her face paint; she half-thinks that she’d rather let her bones endure another wagon, for the taste of sweet air. 

Cinders, tired from the heat and days of travel, and ready to be home and done, slumps on the bench opposing her, her head tilted back at an angle. With her cheeks flushed and wisps of hair escaping the (rather sensible) hairdo she’d insisted on earlier that morning, she looks little like a queen. Idly, she watches the scenery go by, as Ghede, tired of a road she has seen too often before, watches her. 

And so, she sees it the moment Cinders’ expression shifts, from languid boredom to—? She cannot read it, and this is what compels her to turn her head, just in time to see worn cobblestone path leading into the trees disappearing from view. 

Ah. Ghede understands, then. She knows that path well, though she has walked it but once, and that many years before, far more than she cares to count. Cinders’ once-home lies at the end, and now she knows what that look on Cinders’ face is. Nostalgia, and sadness— or, perhaps, regret.

Cinders has spoken a little before, of the sisters she’d finally begun to understand, and the stepmother she’d— if not liked, then learned to respect. But that had been in the early days, before she had understood Carmosa’s new isolation was no temporary thing, and that the scant miles between them was too far for her stepsisters’ courage ever to bridge.

In the end, Cinders says nothing, and the carriage rolls on.

But Ghede takes note, and remembers.

* * *

A castle is no place for a witch. 

Ghede knows this; she has always known this. And yet, here she is: a witch, living in a castle by the side of a queen.

When Cinders had first come to her, asking her to stay, to stay and guide her, she had nearly said _no_. Her bags were already packed, and a wagon paid for. A half-hour later, and she would have been gone, too far for Cinders’ words to reach her. 

But that half-hour had not gone, and there was Cinders, freshly engaged, and to a prince, no less. Had she been a sword, she would have been still glowing red-hot from the forge; coming to Ghede, to catch her before she left, must have been the first thought on her mind. 

It is a precious thing, being valued, and Ghede had missed the taste of it. 

And so, she had stayed. 

And so, she stays.

 _Guide me_ , Cinders had asked, and Ghede does. She knows nothing of politics, but she knows people, and it turns out that it’s much the same thing. Everyone lies; everyone cares only for themselves, and no one ever gazes further than the horizon. The duke and the peasant farmer wear the same face when they look at her, for all that one wears lace and silk, and the other cotton and rags. 

Perhaps, Ghede comes to think, the castle is not so ill a fit for her, after all. She is tired, but she has been tired for years. 

Here, where she has the favor of the queen— here, at least, no one will chase her away.

* * *

One day, the financial minister dies, and the shock reverberates throughout the castle. He was old already in the days of Basile’s father, but not ailing, and after so many years of failing to predict his coming death, the court— not to say Basile himself— had come to think of him as functionally immortal. 

But the shock doesn’t last long. New candidates sprout like weeds to present themselves, both the young and the old— puppets and smiling vipers every one.

One day in the future, if Basile and Cinders have their way, a death such as this would lead to a vote— but for now, the old ways still have their sway, and it is for Basile— or, in truth, Basile and Cinders— to choose who will be next to fill the position. 

Cinders and Basile spend days in hushed debate, evaluating each candidate and picking out every flaw. This one too old; he would leave them in the same position before the year is out— this one nothing more than a mouthpiece for his brother, already on the council— and so on. 

In the end, they turn to Ghede for advice, and she—

She remembers a worn cobblestone path, and a woman who kept her household running even as coin grew dry.

And she remembers too, the way Cinders’ face had looked, as they passed it all by. The way Cinders’ voice had sounded as she spoke of her stepsisters, before she had grown silent.

Basile is unconvinced, buoyed by memories of what Cinders has told him of her past, but Cinders— Cinders listens, and allows herself to be swayed. 

“She hasn’t left her estate in years,” Cinders finally points out— the last hurdle in their path. 

Ghede smiles. “That, you can leave to me.”

Cinders turns to her, at that. She says nothing, but Ghede reads her well, sees the surprise flayed across her face. _What is in this for you_ , she does not ask, and Ghede does not tell. 

From there, Basile’s agreement is easily won. He has conviction— he is no reed, to be swayed by any wind— but there is softness to him yet, and he cannot help but yield in the face of Cinders’ determination.

* * *

The next day, Ghede makes her way to Carmosa’s estate. 

She takes a carriage, though she could have easily walked the distance twice-over. Ghede knows the game Carmosa plays— or once played. A wise-woman she can turn away at the door, but a royal advisor is not so easy to ignore. 

She tells no one of her plans. As she travels through the streets, people crane their heads to catch a glimpse through the curtained window. She garners a few moments amusement picturing how they’d react if they knew they were straining to catch sight of not nobility, but a woman they once would have run out of town without a second thought. 

The town passes into forest; soon, the carriage has turned onto that cobblestone path, and the home that had housed Cinders and her mother both rises up before her.

The carriage does its work; her arrival is not long unnoticed. 

It is one of Carmosa’s own daughters who opens the door— the older one, the one who looks so like her mother, but with none of her will. Gloria, Ghede remembers. An ill-fitting name. 

When she catches sight of Ghede, she hesitates, her brow clouding with uncertainty. It’s a familiar sight; few people are ever ready to find a witch at their door. She looks between Ghede and the carriage waiting behind her, and back again, clearly unsure as to what to make of her.

Fair enough. But Ghede’s time is not so limitless that she’s willing to waste it on this girl’s dawdling. She brushes past her, and enters the house.

Outrage loosens the girl’s tongue, but Ghede ignores her. Instead, she looks at the room about her, at the walls she has not seen in over a decade’s time. 

The house looks well for its isolation. When she looks closely, she sees signs of wear creeping in, but the cracks are small yet. The house is clean, if not shining, and the furnishings well cared for, if not new. Fresh flowers sit at the table at the entrance.

Carmosa may have lost her chance at expansion, but it is clear she will not yield the ground she had gained. Not for the first time, Ghede thinks that Cinders was perhaps wise to choose to chase a kingdom rather than pursue her claim to her once-home. 

Once she has looked her fill, she turns her attention back to Gloria, still standing by the half-opened door— and still babbling. 

“I am here to see Carmosa,” Ghede says.

This, at least, has the effect of cutting through Gloria’s flow of words. She stiffens at Ghede’s words, but her response comes out automatically. “Mother sees no one.”

“Hmph.” Ghede gives her an unimpressed look. “It’s been some years since I last saw her, but last I recalled, your mother wasn’t one to ignore opportunity when it came knocking. Something tells me she won’t be too pleased if she learns her daughter got in the way of that.” 

Gloria wavers, just as she expected her to. She looks to Ghede, then glances through the doorway at the carriage standing outside. 

Ghede waits, stone-faced. 

Gloria makes a decision. She straightens, composure settling over her like a cloak. An illusion of strength, built on a base of porcelain. 

“I’ll go see Mother,” she says, all gracious condescension.

Ghede snorts, crossing her arms, but steps back to allow her to pass.

* * *

It does not take long for Gloria to return. “Mother will see you,” she announces. “If you’d follow me.”

She leads Ghede to Carmosa’s office. A slight, perhaps, to not receive her in a parlour, but Ghede cares little for that. She will have Carmosa’s attention soon enough.

She enters the room. And there, on the other side of the desk, sits Carmosa herself— the first she has seen of her these three years. 

Recognition— and some startlement— flicks over Carmosa’s features as she looks at her. She says: “You.”

Ghede smiles, with teeth. “Me.”

Carmosa recovers from her surprise quickly, and makes a thoughtful sound. “I’d heard you’d become a royal advisor.” A deliberate pause. “I must say I was surprised. I wouldn’t have thought that kind of life would suit you.”

Ghede lets out a bark of laughter. “What can I say? Life holds surprises for us all.”

Throughout this all, Gloria had not left. She lingers in the doorway, looking between them with some confusion. 

Carmosa takes notice, and dismisses her with a flick of her hand. “You may go.” Then, as an afterthought, “Have Sophia bring up some tea for us.”

Gloria leaves, and Ghede is seated. Silence settles over them for a time; Ghede takes advantage of it to take Carmosa’s measure. From the other side of the desk, she sees Carmosa doing the same for her. 

Time has changed Carmosa little, at least outwardly. There is perhaps a little more silver in her hair, the lines at the downward curve of her mouth a bit more pronounced. But she still remains straight-backed and elegantly dressed, her hair still perfectly coiffed for all that there is none there to see her in her seclusion. 

Ghede had thought that perhaps Cinders’ success at the ball had broken Carmosa; the long years in isolation had certainly suggested that. And perhaps it had, in some small way, but she sees little sign of it now. 

That is— promising. 

The door opens, and— ah, there is the other girl. Sophia. She comes bearing the tea, her mouth twisted in sulky rebellion. She takes care to clack each piece of the tea set against the wood of the desk as she sets it down. 

Carmosa says nothing, though her mouth firms in disapproval. She dismisses Sophia with a wave of her hand when she is finished, and Sophia obeys, her mouth twisting in an ironic sort of smile. This one will listen at the door; of this, Ghede has no doubt. She has her own promise, however misused and neglected.

Carmosa stirs the sugar into her tea, and takes a careful sip. When she sets her cup back down, there is the faintest smudge of lipstick on the rim.

Ghede doesn’t touch her own cup. 

“Let us come straight to the point,” Carmosa says, finally. “You’ve never been the kind to pay idle social calls, and I doubt your time in court has changed that. You have a purpose in being here, and I would know what that is.”

After years of dealing with courtier’s smiling lies, Carmosa’s directness is a refreshing change. Ghede makes an approving sound, and returns the favor. “The financial minister has died, and a new one is needed. The King and Queen would like to offer the position to you.”

Carmosa looks at her, unblinking, for a long moment. She’s managed to surprise her. 

“You must be mistaken,” Carmosa says, finally. “The _queen_ —” and here her mouth twists, as though she’s tasted something unpleasant, “—the queen has little love for me. She made _that_ clear enough, last we met.”

Ghede snorts. “I never thought you to be a fool.”

Carmosa stiffens. “Explain yourself,” she demands, her voice cool and hard. 

“You made her into who she is,” Ghede says. “Who can blame her for learning too well?” She pauses, fixing her gaze upon Carmosa. “Would you have ever suffered living under another’s shadow?”

Carmosa looks back at her, her lips parted. She looks away, then back again. Abruptly, she says, “This offer— is it in earnest?”

Ghede lets out another snort. “Do you really think I’d waste my time here otherwise?”

She can almost see the calculations flashing through her mind. Carmosa is not a stupid woman. A position— a place— at court, away from the slowly mouldering house that has been her prison these past years. A host of new opportunities for her daughters— and she _would_ bring her daughters; there was no doubt of that. Tally it all up, and she gets a new home, a new source of income, countless new opportunities— and the type of power few women in this kingdom have held.

In the end, Cinders could not resist when offered a similar chance; Carmosa is no different. 

“I will consider it,” Carmosa finally says, and Ghede knows she has won.


End file.
